


it's a nuclear show

by peachyfoam



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Painplay, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29979114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyfoam/pseuds/peachyfoam
Summary: A retrospective glimpse into Doyoung and Taeyong's relationship, over the years.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 11
Kudos: 113





	it's a nuclear show

**Author's Note:**

> just a small note that i used their korean age for this fic so it's just their respective ages +1

**2013; 18, 19**

Doyoung distinctly remembered the first time he met Taeyong. 

Or rather, Doyoung remembered his turbulent emotions when he met Taeyong. 

It was his clean slate, his new beginning, and with that came the bitter taste of uncertainty that was hard to swallow and tame. But that’s alright, he could deal with that. It’s a necessary first step towards something bigger, something he was _ starved _ for. 

All of that, naturally, came boiling down to making sense of the company floor plan printed on the single piece of A4 paper in his hands that he didn’t dare crinkle. 

It was Doyoung’s first day in the company, after all, and Taeyong had been the first trainee he ran into. (He didn’t know it’s  _ Taeyong _ , of course, not until a few days later when Doyoung got enrolled into the same dance class as him, but that first instance of Doyoung laying his eyes upon Taeyong will permanently be seared into his memory, as he would come to learn.) 

Taeyong was on his way down the stairs, sweaty hair matted to the side of his angular face and hands shoved in gray sweaters. He paused where Doyoung had been lingering in uncertainty at the platform, trying to figure out the signs (or there lackof) to his first vocal practice class. They exchanged awkward bows to show politeness, and Taeyong was about to round the corner when Doyoung shuffled a hesitant step towards him. 

“H-Hello,” Doyoung greeted nervously, and Taeyong turned around with a smile that looked compelled.

“Hello,” he greeted back nonetheless.

“Do you know where classroom 2B-6 is? It’s my first day here and I’m a little lost,” Doyoung explained, sheepish. 

“Oh, it’s down the corridor, then turn left. You should see a vending machine beside it,” Taeyong supplied. 

Doyoung exhaled in relief, quickly typing down the instructions in the notes app of his phone. “Got it, thank you!” 

“No problem, see you around.”

When Doyoung looked up from his phone, Taeyong was gone. 

  
  
  
  


**2014; 19, 20**

Taeyong was never one to hold onto people. 

He wished it’s the naked truth he’s telling when he chalked it up to his own agency, that it was well within his control that people around him are kept at an arm’s length, that he even had a  _ choice _ otherwise. That Taeyong keeps to himself simply because he enjoys how safe and familiar solitary feels like; it’s been his only friend in his life, after all. 

Regardless, that was the narrative he fed himself as he laid in the cramped and lumpy bunk bed at night, earbuds shoved into his ears and detached from his reality. (Sometimes, but only if he’s convincing enough, he gets rewarded with a decent night’s sleep.) 

If there’s anyone in this world who wouldn’t turn their back against him or leave him behind, it’s Taeyong himself. He had tried, of course; Taeyong wasn’t a pessimist, willing to put in the work to maintain relationships and all, but after too many hope-brimmed promises came crashing down hard in tearful goodbyes, he grew lucid. 

_ What is the point, anyway. They’re all just gonna leave and I’ll never see them again. _

That’s just his line of business, isn’t it, who is Taeyong to take it personally. Things worth chasing after never come without sacrifices. Taeyong would be an idiot if he didn’t know that by now.

So when this vocalist-trainee pulled him aside one afternoon before dance practice, cheeks flushed from the numbing winter breeze as he shoved a packet of steaming hot sweet potato from the corner convenience store into Taeyong’s hands, simply because he bothered to remember an offhand comment Taeyong made once, Taeyong offered nothing in return but a polite smile and mumbled thanks. 

Taeyong thinks his name is Kim Doyoung. He had caught glimpses of the boy sitting alone by the stairs during most lunch breaks, chugging down soy milk with a pack of assorted nuts in his hands. Taeyong remembered being impressed by his tolerance for the diet meal. If it were him, he would’ve long given up and reached for his gummies.

Standing by himself at the side of the practice room, Taeyong munched on the delicious sweet potato and didn’t let himself hope. People never remained by his side for long. 

Of course, Doyoung will be no exception. 

  
  
  
  


**2015; 20, 21**

Doyoung had an easy time getting along with everyone, except Taeyong. Despite trying his best to be as pleasant and respectful as he possibly can, he still managed to run into a couple of scuffles with him over the smallest,  _ stupidest _ things (and the fault mostly lies with the Taeyong’s inability to communicate effectively, if you ask him.) 

It wasn’t plain animosity between them, but it wasn’t quite budding friendship, either. They exchanged small talk at best and went for breakfast together once. Can that be considered friendship?

Doyoung is loyal, stubbornly so, would go to the extremes for his friends without thinking twice, and he probably won’t do that for Taeyong. To him, Taeyong simply wasn’t someone he cared that much about. The older was reclusive, prickly, and so introverted that Doyoung hadn’t seen him exchange more than two sentences with anyone. In the two years that they had gotten to know each other, Doyoung concluded that Taeyong was an enigma. 

Even though it seemed like the obvious choice, it still came as a shock to everyone when Taeyong was chosen to be the leader of their group, set to debut the following year. Taeyong himself looked the most surprised, eyes wide and brows slanting, his mouth agape almost comically.

(Doyoung had laughed then, blissfully unaware that with time to come, he would grow to regard that expression with fondness and endearment.)

It wasn’t that anyone doubted his abilities, of course not, Taeyong was an amazing performer and cared enough to help the other trainees in silent ways. He’s deserving of it, so with grace, Taeyong accepted the title, and with it the burdens and pressures. 

He seemed to carry out his duties perfectly, seemed to carry  _ himself _ perfectly. Good thing Doyoung is observant.

Taeyong was an enigma, and Doyoung was determined to figure him out. 

The turning point arrived in the form of a hunched over Taeyong, sitting at the foot of the stairs where Doyoung first met him, his shoulders racking with silent sobs. It was a rare moment of weakness, one that looked almost too vulnerable to intrude upon. Almost.

“Hyung,” Doyoung said softly.

Taeyong’s body froze for a second before he sniffed quietly, quickly wiping at his eyes to get rid of the tears before looking up. “Oh, Doyoung ah. What are you doing here?” 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong forced a smile that Doyoung saw right through. “You don’t have to worry about me, Doyoung ah.”

Doyoung sighed, sitting down beside Taeyong on the stairs. “Don’t do that, hyung. We’re gonna debut in the same group, aren’t we?”

Taeyong didn’t answer, keeping his eyes downcast. Somehow, Doyoung already knew what he was thinking.

“I’m not going anywhere. This is my dream too, hyung, you know I don’t give up easily.” When Taeyong gave a small nod, Doyoung continued, “we’re going to be together for a long time, right? Let me shoulder some of your burdens, please.” 

Taeyong looked at him then, baring his soul through vulnerable eyes, his bottom lip quivering. Doyoung felt something shift deep within himself.

“I lack so much,” Taeyong said hoarsely and his voice was almost a whisper, like even he couldn’t stand to hear the words himself. “I won’t be a good leader.”

“Idiot,” Doyoung jabbed lightly, although it's more out of playful affection than an insult. Why can’t Taeyong see how brightly he’s shining? When Taeyong looked even more wounded, Doyoung rapidly backtracked. “You’re doing really well, hyung, I mean it. Whatever you may lack,” he paused, “no, whatever you may not be  _ amazing _ at, I’ll make up for. Me, and the rest of our group.”

Taeyong nodded slowly, visibly calmer, and Doyoung offered a reassuring smile, squeezing his shoulder once.

“Let’s stay together for a long time, hyung.”

Years later, Doyoung would realise the sheer weight of those easy, naive words. In the present time, though, the best thing he could do was pull Taeyong’s stiff body in for a hug. 

  
  
  
  


**2016; 21, 22**

Taeyong had successfully taken his first big step, the first of many to come, with Doyoung right by his side. 

It was a whirlwind of dazzling stage lights, practice, photoshoots, interviews, more practice, cycle repeats. It was overwhelming to say the least, and there were times where even Taeyong wanted to give up, fantasized about leading a  _ normal _ life, but he came up short every time. 

It was hard to imagine a life where he hadn’t met Doyoung.

Taeyong hadn’t known constants before Doyoung; he barely had any friends at school since he’s quiet and seldom shows up, most of the trainees he made friends with all ended up leaving the company, and he drifted apart from the few friends he had due to his insane schedule.

But Doyoung – dependable, loyal, committed,  _ Doyoung _ embodied constant for him; Taeyong saw it in the pictures taken on birthday celebrations, Doyoung beside him as the candles on their cakes multiplied; heard it when he laid in bed at night, falling asleep to the sound of Doyoung singing in his room; felt it as they stood on the same stage, performing with pure hunger and adrenaline coursing through their veins.

Taeyong is a romanticist, through and through. With Doyoung by his side, Taeyong thinks, they can conquer anything.

  
  
  
  


**2017; 22, 23**

Taeyong is the biggest lightweight that Doyoung had ever met. Two shots of soju and Taeyong turned red. Three shots and he’s practically gone. 

“To our first win!” Doyoung cheered, raising his shot glass to clink noisily against several others, “and  _ definitely _ not our last.” 

Taeyong giggled and hiccuped from where he was sprawled across Jaehyun and Yuta’s laps on the couch. “That’s right!” he mumbled, trying to reach for the half-empty bottle but his hand was harshly slapped away by Yuta.

“I’m not carrying you back to your room if you pass out on me,” Yuta glared, and Taeyong’s bottom lip juts out pitifully. “Someone get him a glass of water, his tolerance is so bad it’s embarrassing.”

“I’m  _ sober _ ,” Taeyong hissed indignantly, pushing himself up to prove his point. “See? I can walk in a straight li- ” and he stumbled on his own feet. Doyoung caught him by his arm before his knees could hit the ground. It sent everyone into hysterics instantly, but Taeyong just looked dazed and confused.

“Oh my God, why are you like this, hyung,” Doyoung whined, shifting his grip around Taeyong’s waist to better support him. “I’ll go put him to bed first,” he told the others before lugging a sluggish Taeyong to his room.

“Doyoung ah,” Taeyong mumbled when he’s all tucked in bed by Doyoung. His lashes fluttered, and Doyoung could tell he’s fighting sleep. “We’re doing well, right?”

“Go to sleep,” he sighed.

“ _ Promise _ me, Doyoung ah,” Taeyong slurred, his voice pitchy and almost child-like, bordering on desperation. “We’ll be together for a long time, right? Promise hyung.”

Doyoung paused, softening. 

The moonlight casts gently onto Taeyong’s angular face, illuminating his dark lashes and soft lips. Doyoung always thought Taeyong was beautiful, but for the first time, he thought Taeyong looked angelic. 

A slight twinge in his chest. The laughter and shouts outside faded into the background, just a faint buzz, a soft reminder that they were not alone. That this world did not belong to just him and Taeyong, that they were not main characters in a work of fiction. 

When the words  _ I promise _ trembled from Doyoung’s lips, barely a whisper, Taeyong’s breathing had already evened out, body slack in a deep slumber.

  
  


**2018; 23, 24**

“Happy birthday, Doyoungie!” Taeyong sing-songed as he stepped into Doyoung’s room, a nicely wrapped present in one hand and a pricey bottle of  _ Chateau Lafleur  _ in the other. __

The digital clock on Doyoung’s bedside table reads 12:00am. He was watching a YouTube video on his phone and Mark’s bed was conveniently empty, the younger having temporarily moved to Dream’s dorm for promotions. 

“Oh, hyung! Thank you,” he smiled, grateful, sitting up as Taeyong plopped down beside him on his bed. Doyoung’s phone lit up with floods of birthday wishes and Taeyong patiently waited for him to reply to some of them, going to the kitchen and returning with two wine glasses.

A couple of their members poked their heads into Doyoung’s room to wish him, and Jungwoo busted in to smother Doyoung with kisses which he fake gagged at. They had planned a surprise party for him later that day, but Taeyong wanted to do a little something extra to start Doyoung’s day nicely.

Jungwoo put on a mildly offended face. “Really? Gagging at my kisses when you’re gonna let Taeyong hyung suck your dick later?”

Doyoung squawked, shoving a laughing Jungwoo off his bed. “Shut up oh my god, and  _ yes _ because that’s different.”

Taeyong blushed. It was bound to happen some time, they both knew it. Their members finding out, however, was not part of the original plan. But they did, so they have to make do. It’s not anything serious, anyway. 

Later that night, swirling the burgundy liquid around the glass, Doyoung had barely tipped his head back in a sip before Taeyong was pushing it out of his hand, closing the distance between their lips and chasing the red liquid in Doyoung’s mouth. Fingers roughly threaded in each other’s hair, knees knocking together. 

It was filthy and sensual and lascivious and  _ just _ the way Taeyong likes it, moaning in satisfaction when the expensive red wine flowed from Doyoung’s mouth into his, some trickling from the corner of their lips. Their tongues tangled in a slippery, wet mess of wine and spit.

“Fuck, you’re nasty,” Doyoung breathed, pupils blown, wiping his chin sloppily with the back of his hand when they finally broke apart for air.

“You love it,” Taeyong panted.

“I guess I do,” Doyoung said, pulling him in for another kiss and Taeyong scrambled to tug down his shorts.

Maybe in another life, Taeyong would press gentle kisses to every inch of Doyoung’s skin with hallowed love instead of wicked lust. Maybe in another life, Taeyong could afford to  _ romanticise _ that lust, feed him pretty euphemisms and conceits and repeat them over and over until he believes it, until they both believe it, because it’s Doyoung. 

Maybe they can do everything  _ lovers _ do in another life, but not this one.

So Taeyong went for hard and rough, crude and frenzied, letting Doyoung’s cock prod painfully against the back of his throat, dragging his nails down Doyoung’s torso and leaving angry red marks in its wake. Taeyong choked pathetically when Doyoung grabbed a fistful of his hair and began to thrust into his wet mouth with the same, almost violent carelessness.

He only softened up when Doyoung was slumped over, spent and chest heaving. Taeyong allowed himself a brief moment of tenderness as he looked at Doyoung in his post-orgasmic bliss, lips bit red from holding back sounds and lashes resting atop high cheekbones, looking so vulnerable and defenseless that it made Taeyong’s chest constrict painfully. 

“Did you enjoy that?” He asked instead.

“Mhm,” Doyoung mumbled, opening his eyes. “Let me return the favor, hyung.”

“Ah, you don’t have to, it’s your birthday,” Taeyong began but Doyoung was already pushing Taeyong down, pinning his wrists and tugging down his shorts. 

Taeyong swore ugly profanities into the crook of his own arm, gasping and writhing when Doyoung harshly dug his thumbs into the patches of purple bruises littered across Taeyong’s thighs and hips as he sucked him off. 

They lay together in Doyoung’s narrow bed, bodies flush against each other when it’s over, and somehow it felt even more intimate than the past hour they spent swallowing each other’s body fluids. Doyoung lazily tangled their fingers together and Taeyong made no move to pull away.

Taeyong told himself many times that he was content with what they have and what they were in that moment, but it was hard to ignore the silence between them. It was comfortable, different. It’s not deafening or suffocating or sullen and Taeyong realised with a breath too short that if he can share his silence then it probably meant love.

It’s a quiet, reserved kind of love, but it was love nonetheless. Taeyong was willing to take the chance if Doyoung was, too.

Ever honest with his feelings, “I love you,” Taeyong let slip in a soft exhale, and Doyoung turned to look at him in surprise. 

It’s not the first time Taeyong said it, but it felt different this time. Too honest. Too loaded. Too much like a hasty confession that maybe Doyoung wasn’t ready to hear. 

As he feared, Doyoung turned his head away, pulling his hand from Taeyong’s grasp and sat up, facing away from Taeyong.

“Hyung…” Doyoung whispered, and it wasn’t quite the  _ I love you too _ that Taeyong desperately wanted to hear. “You know we can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” Taeyong asked in barely contained anguish, then breathed in deeply to calm himself. It’s Doyoung's birthday, and he didn’t want to fight. “Sorry.”

If Doyoung had an answer, he didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Taeyong already knew, loud and clear. Because there it is – everything Taeyong feared snowballed into one huge avalanche that threatened to fragment his entirety.

  
  
  
  


**2019; 24, 25**

Ever since Taeyong moved into a single room by himself, Doyoung had been a frequent visitor. 

Doyoung stayed just next door, and as if they don’t already see each other around the house enough, most mornings begin with them waking up in each other’s beds. Not that Doyoung would ever admit it, and if the other members noticed the two of them stumbling out from the same room, bickering over who gets to use the bathroom first, they don’t say anything. (Or perhaps they were so desensitised that Doyoung and Taeyong didn’t even have to bother hiding anymore.)

Doyoung was almost certain that it all started with Taeyong, his muffled (not really) moans at night, and their too-thin walls. 

But maybe Doyoung got it all wrong and it started with himself instead, quietly slipping into Taeyong’s room, climbing into his bed and subsequently into his body. 

Or perhaps, it started when neither of them bothered to get up afterward and cuddled with their limbs intertwined till dawn broke. 

More likely than not, it started when the burning desire to shove their tongue down the other’s throat and hand down the other’s shorts eventually fizzled out, yet they still crawled into each other’s beds, anyways. 

Doyoung used to wish for the universe to hear his pleas, for the planets to somehow align for him and Taeyong, but observant as he is,  _ maybe _ he just hadn’t noticed. Maybe Doyoung had already gotten his wish. Maybe Taeyong was already his. 

If he could just let himself have Taeyong.

Dazzling, brilliant Taeyong who outshone all the stars in Doyoung’s little universe, who stood with him on the edge of heaven and way beyond, who fell equally as hard with him into the infernos of hell, yet they manage to get back on their feet every time. 

Because they had each other. 

Because Doyoung is fucking loyal, stubbornly so, and he  _ knows _ that with Taeyong by his side, there isn’t a single damn thing that they can’t conquer.

  
  
  


**2020; 25, 26**

Taeyong can no longer remember the first time he met Doyoung. 

Maybe he never remembered it in the first place, and maybe he didn’t need to. 

He stared at the rose gold ring around his pointer finger, tilting his hand at various angles to admire the ring. “Isn’t this a bit too much, Doyoung ah?” he asked, not ungratefully so, “you shouldn’t have spent so much money on hyung.”

“You’re just petty because I beat you to it,” Doyoung grinned teasingly as he intertwined their fingers.

The pair of rings looked perfect nestled beside each other; like things finally fell into their rightful places; like how it was always meant to be.

“That’s not true,” Taeyong lied through his teeth.

“You’re  _ such _ a bad liar,” Doyoung laughed, and Taeyong cupped his face tenderly, closing the distance between their lips, hoping to convey how tremendously grateful he is. 

“Since you know me so well,” Taeyong mumbled when they pulled away with pink cheeks, “then you should know how honest I am when I say I love you, right?”

“Of course, hyung, I know that even if you don’t say it,” Doyoung replied, and Taeyong sighed softly in contentment. He pressed a kiss on the back of Taeyong’s hand, endearingly so, and Taeyong couldn’t be more in love. “I was stupid…” Doyoung started again, blinking and caressing Taeyong’s hand. “For thinking we don’t stand a chance in this life.” When he looked up, Doyoung’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears. “Because I love you too, and I will love you again in our next life. And the many ones after that. And all the time spent in between, too.”

“I know,” Taeyong sniffed, brushing his thumbs across Doyoung’s cheeks sweetly. “And I thought I was the romantic one,” he pouted, eliciting a soft snort from Doyoung.

“Sorry babe, that’s me.”

“Are you making this into a competition?”

“And if I am?”

  
“Then be prepared to  _ lose _ , Kim Doyoung,” Taeyong promised.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments are greatly appreciated! [twitter](https://twitter.com/subspacety)


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